


Puzzle Pieces

by Insomnia_Productions



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nagisa is smol and in need of hugs, Nagisa's mom has problems, but seriously nagisa just needs all the hugs, obligatory warnings for Nagisa's mom I guess, sort of karma/nagisa if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nagisa thinks that his mom has changed, but really, she hasn't changed at all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nagisa's eyes widen as they come to a stop in front of Karma's porch. <br/>"Home," he says faintly. <br/>"Home," Karma agrees, and opens the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzle Pieces

It begins with a single, off-handed comment,  a few weeks after The Incident. 

That's what they call it now—The Incident—as though his mother drugging him and asking him to burn down his classroom were nothing, as though the split second it took for him to immobilize an adult assassin without batting an eyelid could be easily dismissed with a shrug of the shoulder and a small, convenient word. 

But, regardless—the comment. In the weeks following that night, Shiota Hiromi has been quiet. She does not pretend to agree with Nagisa's choices, but for a time, she pretends not to care what he does. 

Until she doesn't. 

"Oh, Nagisa," she sighs one evening as he slips on white shirt. "You shouldn't wear such bland colors all the time." Her eyes are dark. Nagisa changes, and ignores the spark of concern in the back of his mind. It's just a shirt, after all. 

A few days later, she smiles as she hands him a new shampoo. 

"I noticed you were running out," she says sweetly, and Nagisa thanks her and pretends he doesn't see the ornate writing on the bottle— _ For Women _ . 

A week passes, now, and Nagisa's wardrobe of soft whites, greys, and blues has given way to purples, pinks, and oranges. 

_ It's fine, _ he tells himself at night, gazing up at the ceiling.  _ She said she doesn't care. She meant it.  _

_ She has to have meant it. _

 

* * *

 

 

On Friday, Nagisa returns home with a weight on his mind. He has a test on Monday, a difficult one that had even Karma frowning as he read through the list of suggested study topics. 

When he walks through the door, Hiromi hands him a plate of cookies and smiles. Nagisa smiles back. He needed this. 

"What's the occasion, mom?" 

She smiles wider. "I just had some free time, and wanted to make something nice for my darling child." 

There it is. She always calls him that—her child. Never her son. Nagisa's smile wavers, but he brushes it off, enjoying the cookies. 

"That, and," Hiromi continues, "I went to the store today and bought some new clothes that'll look just stunning on you." She's holding a bag bursting with fabric. Nagisa feels a pit form in his stomach. 

_ Please _ . 

"Here, try this one first." She's reaching into the bag. Nagisa sees a flash of pink. 

_ Please _ . 

Hiromi pulls out a pale pink dress and holds it against him, smiling softly. 

"Ah, so pretty. Here, try it on." 

Nagisa doesn't move. Hiromi frowns. Her eyes darken. 

"Nagisa—"

"Mom. I... I don't want to." 

Her voice drops. "What did you say?" 

"I don't want to. I'm not a girl. You... you said you didn't care, you said you would let me do what I want, you said—" 

"And I've stuck to it, haven't I?" Her voice is rising steadily. "I've let you be. I've let you do whatever you want, haven't I? Don't forget, Nagisa, I am still your mother. I brought you into this world. I've done  _ so much _ for you—"

It's the same speech as always. And he thought that things have changed. 

"Nagisa." She isn't screaming now. Her voice is calm as death. "You owe me everything. You owe me your life. So you can, you will, do this one little thing for me. Understood?" 

Nagisa wants to cry. Instead he nods slowly and walks to the bathroom to change. 

When he emerges, Hiromi coos, snatching his phone off the table to slide it into a pocket in the dress.

"You see? It's just as convenient as shorts, and looks so much prettier!"

Nagisa is silent as his mother reaches up to remove the bands from his hair, smiling as it tumbles down his shoulders. She dips her hand back into the bag. 

"Look—I have a necklace that would look just darling with the dress." She fastens it around his neck, then cradles his face in her hands. "So pretty... you look so pretty, Nagisa." She moves away, hands clasped over her heart. "I've missed this, Nagisa. I'm glad we've finally made up, so we can do fun things like this more often. My days haven't felt complete without our little mother-child moments—" 

Nagisa doesn't know how it happened, but suddenly pearly white beads are scattering across the floor. The broken chain of the necklace lies limp in his fist. Hiromi's eyes widen, memories of that night flashing through them. 

"Nagi—"

Nagisa is out the door before she can finish, bare feet pounding against the asphalt. He doesn't stop when he passes the stop sign, the corner store, the pet shop. He runs and runs until his chest burns, and then he keeps running. 

It's only when he is seconds away from collapsing that he comes to a halt, crumbling on the prickly grass of a local playground. It's dark; the moon shines brightly above him, illuminating the empty streets. Nagisa curls into himself, shivering. And then he feels something pressing into his thigh. 

With shaking hands, Nagisa pulls his phone out of the pocket,—he won't call it his, this dress is not his—types in a number, and hits dial. 

 

* * *

 

 

For what may be the first time in his life, Akabane Karma is stressed. He's the top of his grade in maths, he knows this, but this unit is something else entirely. It's not that he never studies, he does, but now he feels that he might just forgo food for the whole weekend, simply because he hasn't the time to cook. He can't afford to divert his attention from these textbooks for even a minute—

By his side, his phone rings. Nagisa's ringtone. Karma looks at his phone. Looks at his books. Back at his phone. Back at his books. He picks up. 

"Yo, Nagisa-kun." 

Nagisa's voice is rough and shaky, and Karma is on instant alert. "K-Karma-kun..." 

"Nagisa? Where are you?" 

"The p-park... I'm al-lone..."

"Don't move. I'll be right there." Karma is sprinting down the street in under a second, his textbooks fluttering weakly in his wake. 

He skids to a stop in front of the playground near Nagisa's neighborhood, but his friend is nowhere to be seen. Behind him, the grass crinkles, and Karma has only enough time to turn before arms are around him, holding onto him so tight that for a moment he thinks he's being assassinated. And then the blue hair, out of its pigtails, registers. 

Followed by the dress. 

"Nagisa-kun?" 

His friend only shudders, holding him tighter. Nagisa manages to whisper, "Karma," and then he's crying, soaking Karma's shirt with salt water. Karma puts his arms around him, resting his chin on Nagisa's head. 

"What happened?" 

"My m-mom." 

And Karma understands instantly. He holds his friend for a moment longer, and then pushes him away to look at him. Nagisa's eyes are bloodshot and watery, his hair tangling around his face like a mane. Karma half smiles, cupping Nagisa's face in his hands and wiping his tears. 

"C'mon, Nagisa-kun. I'll take you home." 

Nagisa nods, saying nothing as Karma begins to walk, but he stumbles forward and slips his hand into Karma's, matching his pace. Karma squeezes his hand. 

"You'll be fine." 

After a few minutes, Nagisa speaks. 

"This...isn't the way to my house." 

Karma keeps walking. "Didn't say I was taking you to your house. Said I was taking you home." 

Nagisa frowns, but doesn't let go of Karma's hand. His eyes widen when they come to a stop at Karma's porch. 

"Home," he says faintly. 

"Home," Karma agrees, and opens the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Nagisa sits on the edge of Karma's bed, his hands folded on his lap and his eyes fixed on the floor as Karma rummages through his closet. After a moment, a large shirt and some pajamas are tossed onto his head. 

"There you go. They'll probably be big for you, but I don't have anything else, so..." 

"Thanks," Nagisa says quietly, and Karma leaves the room to let him change. When he returns, he's holding a hairbrush and two black hair ties. Nagisa reaches out, but his hands shake so hard he can't even hold them. Karma sighs, but he doesn't sound annoyed. 

"Want me to do it for you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, choosing instead to sit on the bed behind Nagisa and beginning to brush his hair. He hums while he does it, some new pop song, and Nagisa feels the knots in his chest begin to loosen with each loosened knot of his hair. The whole process lasts for seven minutes and twenty-four seconds. Nagisa counts in correspondence with his heartbeat—but that may not be entirely accurate, as it seems to slow slightly with every stroke of the brush. 

"There. All done." Karma taps Nagisa on the shoulder, and he turns to sit cross legged on the bed, facing Karma as one hand rises to subconsciously pat his hair, which remains sans pigtails. 

"Thank you." And he means more than the brushing. Karma smiles. 

"Any time. You know you... can always come to me. Always." And he, too, means more than the brushing. 

But neither has to say it. 

They sit in silence for a moment, and Nagisa wonders why, when Karma brushes his hair, he feels so content, while when his mother does, he feels cold and tense. He wonders why he feels safer in the house of the greatest, most antagonist close-combat fighter he's ever known, than he does in his own home. 

He wonders why he doesn't ever want to leave. 

Karma smirks, as though reading his thoughts, and, to Nagisa's surprise, holds his arms open. 

Nagisa just stares, and Karma rolls his eyes. 

"C'mere. I won't bite." 

Hesitantly, Nagisa inches forward, leaning into Karma. Immediately, he is encased in a warm, gentle hug. He relaxes into Karma's arms, and it feels so, so much better than the few times when his mother would think to hold him after a fight. 

Karma shifts, leaning back to lie fully on the bed, and the two of them sink into the pillows, but never once do either of them let go. 

"Nagisa-kun..." Karma mumbles sleepily, tilting his head against Nagisa's, one hand gently stroking Nagisa's hair. He must already be half-asleep, Nagisa rationalizes, because Karma would never do things like this when fully awake. 

But, even so…

Nagisa has always felt like a misshapen  piece in his mother's puzzle, jutting out at all the wrong angles, frayed at the edges from where she'd tried to force him in. 

But, lying here with Karma, he feels like, for the first time, he's clicked, he's slipped into a slot as bent and misshapen as himself, a piece that suits him perfectly. And his frayed, rough edges don't matter at all, because this piece is just as damaged, and their flaws match and cancel out just right. 

Curled up in Karma's arms, with the scent of fast food and open textbooks in the air and the warmth of Karma's lips just brushing his forehead, Nagisa smiles as he drifts into a sleep better than any he's ever had in his apartment.

Maybe this  _ is _ home. 

After all, he fits. 

**Author's Note:**

> I would say '*hugs Nagisa*', but he has Karma to do that.


End file.
